Everyday A Little Death
by Maribor
Summary: A very short study on River and the Doctor post "Angels Take Manhattan". Mostly just written to cope with my own angrsty feelings (yes, angrsty, that's a combo of angsty and angry) about the episode. Rivers POV and also a story about the Doctor's first time with her and first time in this body.


**Took a break from writing my smutty Doctor story to pen this. Just watched "Angels take Manhattan" and as expected, it fucking reaped my soul. I'm absolutely broken at the loss of the Ponds. So, what to do when you're broken? Write about it. This is really short, just a first encounter between the Doctor and River. Not much more to say really... Please read, review and hopefully enjoy. That being said, I reject Moffat's reality and substitute it with my own. Long live the Doctor and the Ponds.**

**Everyday A Little Death**

I waited for him for hours.

That was, of course, neither unexpected nor a hardship. I would wait for him forever.

The TARDIS lighting dimmed when he finally returns, in deference or perhaps in mourning. She had, after all, loved them too.

He is stooped, his shoulders slumped with the weight of a thousand worlds upon it.

I sat in the chair before the console watching him, my love, my husband, and my brow furrows as I see him lock the door. He never locks the door and I fear its symbolism. He's closing it out, the world, memories of mum and dad, everything, everybody. He hasn't looked at me yet though I know he knows I'm there.

He's cradling a poppet in his hands, alternately worrying the soft material back and forth between his hands and then holding it as delicately as the most fragile and precious crystal. All I can tell is that it appears to have red hair.

He sets the ragdoll onto the console and I imagine this will be the last time I'll ever see it. He has so many keepsakes, so many mementos and it isn't long before he spirits them away, locking them up in some dark place in the recesses of the TARDIS, where he keeps all his pain.

A moment later and he is standing before me, hands shoved deep in his pockets, still unable to make eye contact, still not speaking.

I put my hand on his right wrist, tentatively, withdrawing it from his pockets and once freed he grasps mine, tightly. It hurts a little, but then again, everything with the Doctor hurts at least a little. Standing, I lead him up the steps and away from the console room. He follows, docile and mute like a little boy.

The TARDIS directs me where to go and without knowing the way we arrive at his bedroom. When we enter, i realize it's not his bedroom, just a room, comfortable enough, with a bed. He still doesn't trust me fully. Not enough to let me into his inner sanctum. It's all right. I can be patient, the day will come.

We stand there for a moment, in the silence of the room and finally he raises his eyes to me. They're bloodshot and so sad, so infinitely, incredibly, achingly, sad I can almost not bear to look at them.

But I do. That's marriage, that's my job.

I raise a palm to his face and his jaw tightens. Oh my love, those first instincts of yours. To reject the kindness, the empathy, to push it away, to hold back the tide.

He presses his lips together tightly to suppress the trembling there but I continue stroking his face. That lovely, precious, young, old face. He's melting before me, the tears well up again as I imagine they have countless times over the past hours. Well, hours for me. How long for him?

When he grabs me roughly, it's not unexpected, the storm tends to follow the rain.

He's cold at first. His kiss is rough, demanding and his fingertips bruise my arm, but it's alright.

He rips my dress as I try to keep up with his kisses, his touch, but it's alright.

He shoves me backwards onto the bed. He unceremoniously disrobes, throwing the bowtie into a darkened corner of the room. I unburden myself of the ruins of my dress and wait for him. His eyes are blank, burning like icy fire and I wonder if he can even really see me anymore.

Ultimately, I decide he can't. I am object to him now. I am distraction. I am pain reliever.

But it's all right. It's all alright. I can't force him to feel it, I can only wait for the moment when he does.

This was not how I wanted our first time together to be. Not how I wanted his first time in this body to be. But as I think about it, could it have been any other way?

He pins my arms as though I would protest. I wouldn't. I'm not. I won't.

We are eye to eye and I offer him the same smile I have since he returned, soft, accepting, loving and patient. It seems to almost irk him and he puts his face as close to mine as he can, eye to eye, nose to nose. he kisses me again, trying to force some reaction that he finds absolutely necessary.

I will only say six words to him for the entire evening. The first three come now.

He kisses me again, forcing his tongue into my mouth and I meet his angry duel with conceding parries and thrusts of my own.

He breaks from me, forehead wrinkled in pain and consternation.

"Gently, my love." I whisper.

His demeanor changes immediately. The angry storm clouds depart and suddenly he looks so sad, so interminably sad. Then the apologies begin to flow. His body which had been rigid above me relaxes. His hands find my hair and our next kiss is overflowing with patience.

He can see me now, again.

He plants soft kisses on my face, my neck, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs, intent on pleasing, intent on setting wrongs right.

He is back in my arms again.

"I'm sorry, darling. River. I am so sorry. So terribly, terribly sorry."

I shush him and urge him forward.

He enters me with a moan nearly muffled by tightly pressed lips. I kiss them open, he groans and we both shut our eyes.

It's bliss, as I knew it would be. He's a bit hesitant at first, cautious. A shy virgin gaining confidence. It comes eventually, and we writhe and arch and ebb and flow and rise and fall together all to the beat of the Doctors hearts.

Ever the gentleman he brings me there first and I watch him as he watches me, studies my face though the heights of climax.

I in turn trigger him, his hips work erratically, he buries his face against my neck, his voice rises higher, softly higher until it breaks and he breaks within me.

His body stills and I hold him more tightly than I ever have. I thought he might tell me his name tonight. But it's alright. That time will come. I'm in no hurry.

The tears come then as they must. The heartbreaking sobs that shatter me as his body heaves and shakes with loss.

The TARDIS dims the lights upon us, protective girl that she is, she wants him to be able to cry in the dark, unseen yet in the peace of my arms.

I cuddle him against me and pulling the blankets over us both I bring his head to lay upon my breast.

"River." he says quietly. In that word lay the regret of a million losses, a million faces that trusted him, a million hands that grasped his and ran when he commanded, laughed when he laughed and marveled at his glory, his mercy, his fury. In that word lay all his fears for the future, all his fears for me and all the fears for those yet unknown who would follow in the footsteps of my parents. Oh yes, he would do it again. He had to. He couldn't be alone. He shouldn't be alone.

"I love you." I replied.

That started a fresh batch of tears, for both of us. And we held each other so that i thought we might never let the other go.

That was how it ended, for today at least.

A god and a woman, alone in the dark, victims of time, guilty of hubris and arrogance and unashamed mourning, finding quarter only in each others arms and seeking no mercy from angels.


End file.
